THE CULPRIT
The gray-bearded councilors waited, seated in a ring on the ancient
stone seats of the Hill of Assembly. Uncomfortable seats they were,
too, each made of two slabs of uncut rock, one piece serving as a back.
But so had the council of the tribal elders sat in the days before
their father’s fathers. Completely surrounding the stone seats of the
council was a thick ring of trees which crowned the bare flat-topped
hill, the sacred grove which no one might cut, and dedicated to the
tribal gods. On the east the treetops still showed, reddened by the
setting sun.
On the hill opposite the Hill of Assembly clustered the hundreds of
round grass-thatched mushroom-like huts of the village of Warok, the
chief. It was the chief town of the Hillmen and well named Kwallak the
Stony.
Warok sat now, spear planted by his side, on the western edge of the
ring of the elders, a gray-bearded warrior, scarred with ancient
wounds, wearing the universal leather loincloth, and with a leopard
skin slung like a cape from his shoulders. The elders were similarly
clad, but their capes were of goatskin or of the smaller buck.
The speaker before them, his rapid gesticulations contrasting sharply
with the quiet dignity of the Assembly, drew near to the end of his
harangue.
“Whilst daily these goats, which I have counted before you, were being
stolen, you, who are the chief, do nothing!” He paused to point an
insolently accusing finger at the old chief, his voice rising to an
ill-natured sneer as he continued: “But I, Sura, whom you will not
permit to sit in the Assembly, no doubt because of my riches, I, and
Menud my son, have discovered the thief whom you wished to hide.”
Warok’s voice, low toned but authoritative, cut in: “I hide no
wrongdoers. I envy no man his riches, for I am too old to use them.
You do not sit in the Assembly both because you are not of the age and
because you are not of the true descent of the tribe. For such is the
law. Continue!”
Sura, his thick lips thrust forward with malicious eagerness, his fat,
weak-legged body quivering with fear and hate, had scarcely been able
to hold back the climax of his speech.
“This same law, then, which is so rigid that for all my wealth in
cattle and goats I may not sit in council, this same law will punish
your son with death!” Sura paused, almost happily, to deliver his
final blow.
“The penalty for stealing is death?”
Warok inclined his head in assent.
“Good! Since the thief, as Menud my son can prove--the thief whom you
have protected but who must now die is--your son Garram!”
The soft fat hand of the speaker made a gesture of slaying, and for a
moment there was silence. Then a scarred old warrior leaped to his feet.
“No man should be accused behind his back. Moreover, I have known the
boy since he was a child. He is no thief!”
But his voice was drowned by the clamor, for Sura, with his wealth, had
his own backing, and the voices of his supporters increased. Then at a
sign from the chief, the sound gradually lessened.
“This is no matter of opinion. Not so do we do justice. O elder of the
people.” The quiet voice of Warok further calmed the Assembly. “But
having heard the charge, let us now hear the evidence. Let Menud speak.”
Menud, a tall, gangling youth, large built but clumsy, came forward.
As with Sura, venom seemed to drive him where courage might have been
insufficient. Almost with insolence he halted in front of the chief,
and without greeting or preliminary he began.
“The words of my father are true. Garram does not hunt with the people
of the tribe, nor in the tribal hunting grounds. Yet his foolish dog
is always well fed, and I have watched him bring meat to your house.”
The youth continued. “And if he does not hunt, whence comes this meat?”
Menud hesitated. “Meat does not grow on trees, and his goats are few.
So the meat was stolen!”
Here and there a gray beard nodded in agreement. But the old warrior
who had first spoken in Garram’s defence had an objection.
“All this you say, but you say it in the boy’s absence, when he cannot
deny. And how do we know your words are true? You have not seen the
theft, nor can you produce the meat which, you say, has been eaten.”
He paused. “Moreover, the stolen goats that Sura had counted are more
than two men and dogs could eat!”
Menud waited, impatiently cropping the grass with prehensile toes, but
with an evil grin of satisfaction. The game was being played into his
hands. “I cannot watch each night to see a thief at work. But I have
seen him returning with the price of our stolen goats, which he has
sold in distant villages.”
Menud reached down to fumble for a moment with the knots of a bundle
at his feet. Then spread the contents wide for the inspection of the
Assembly. “Behold the price of the goats he could not eat, and the
proof of his guilt!”
A horrified murmur rose from the Assembly. This seemed the last
convincing proof of the crime of their chief’s son. A crime which had
been on so large a scale that it must indeed involve the old warrior
father as well.
Here and there elders rose stiffly from their stone seats. Supporting
themselves on their staffs they came forward to inspect the bundle.
Brass and copper rods, rolls of webbing-like cloth, and other articles
which do duty for currency in a primitive country.
“This is all?” questioned one expert, scraping a rod with appraising
thumbnail. For a moment Menud gulped and hesitated.
“Yes, all that I could find, though perhaps Garram has more hidden.”
One by one the old men, peering in the failing light, satisfied
themselves that these articles were what they seemed, and one by one,
silent, returned to their places. Of one race with Warok and Garram,
their sympathies were with the aristocratic, haughty old chief and the
independent young hunter, rather than with Sura and Menud, who seemed
alternately to bully and grovel.
Among the Assembly Sura’s purchased influence began to wane beneath
a growing pity for the young hunter, and in the mind of one lame and
wizened ancient grew, slowly, a plan to help the boy. If others took
his meaning and followed his lead, then the boy might yet be saved. It
was worth trying. He rose awkwardly and spoke.
“Sura has said that fifteen of my seventeen goats have been stolen. It
is false. I have lost no goats!” The well-meaning lie took a little
time to sink in, but, pleased with himself, the old one had sat down
again. He leaned forward and with the end of his staff administered a
broad hint, in the shape of a prod in the ribs to another ancient on
his left. With a vicious malediction upon the first ancient the second
rose to frame, if possible, a better lie. To claim an increase in his
herds, perhaps! But Warok intervened.
“My thanks for your kindness,” his level voice was heard through the
gathering dusk. “But if he is guiltless my son will defend himself. If
guilty he shall not escape the penalty!”
Then between the tree trunks in the dimming light the figure of a boy
was seen approaching. Garram must, somehow, have learned what was in
progress. Straight and unswerving he took his course to face his judges
and accusers. Straight to face his trial for a crime whose punishment
was death.
Through the onlookers beyond the circle of elders he came, and a path
opened for him through the packed people.
He came within the ring of elders. Then the silence was broken.
“Seize him and bind him!” ordered Menud, and a group of those youths
who followed him hastened to obey. Garram had not hesitated in his
stride, but as they sprang forward an arrow appeared as if by magic on
his bow. Swiftly Menud and his followers leaped for safety behind the
seated elders.
The young hunter now stood before the elders, swaying slightly as he
waited. At Garram’s back, teeth bared and mane bristling, Kon stood on
guard. A moment Garram waited, then his bow clattered to the ground
from his relaxed left hand, and with his right he strove to hold
together the gaping wounds in his side.
Warok, in answer to his son’s question, detailed the charge. Something
of pride was in the old man’s voice as he spoke. Garram seemed
struggling with his weakness, and the silence grew tense. His words
must make certain his death for, surely, in the minds of the elders,
there could be no defence for this well-proved charge, and both friends
and enemies knew that he would speak the truth at any cost.
But the young hunter, weak as he was, seemed to have no intention of
defending himself.
“When Menud robbed my cave, these, then,” he pointed at the bundle
Menud had opened--“these are all that he says he found?”
Voices out of the dusk confirmed. There was a movement of sympathy in
the packed, straining crowd. Guilty as he was, he had made no attempt
to deny his guilt.
“Then may his house and the house of Sura be searched for that which
they have hidden and mean to steal. There is ten times that which has
been brought before you!”
A murmured order from Warok dispatched a group of men to carry out the
search.
It was now dark except for the vague light of a new moon. The voice
of the boy, cool and even, like that of his father, seemed small and
forlorn in the gloom.
“As to where I hunt and how, that is no matter for the Assembly, though
none but a fool would hunt with Menud’s chattering band. As for the
rest, I have no skill in talk, being only a hunter.”
Interest deepened. This seemed no confession of guilt. Nor yet a
defence. A measure of reassurance came to Warok and to those who knew
the boy best.
“I bring you things which may be touched and seen, not words which may
lie. You may then touch, and see, and judge.”
The quiet voice ceased. There was a rustle in the darkness, and heads
were turned toward a small red glow which wove in and out among the
trees. More spots of light came into sight, slowly tracing along the
path from the village to the assembly ground, growing larger as they
approached. Once more the crowd opened, this time to make way for a
party of men with smoldering grass torches and carrying handfuls of
bones and half-bleached skulls of goats. In the distance a group of
men struggled with some heavy and awkward load, grunting and cursing
with their effort.
The foremost cast down his burden, opened out his grass torch and swung
it at arm’s length till it burst into a blaze.
“By your son’s orders we bring these, O Chief. The cave was full of the
bones of goats--as if all the goats of the village had been slaughtered
for one feast.” The speaker held the blazing torch down so that the
onlookers might see, while more and more bones were thrown upon the
pile.
“And behind---- Ah, here he is.” With something of the pride of a
showman the speaker turned. “The stealer of these goats, the eater of
this feast, whom your son Garram has killed single handed!”
And with a thud ten staggering men let fall the body of a magnificent
leopard.
More and more torches were fanned into a blaze, till even the outermost
spectators could make out the huge tawny shape with its black spots.
Guttural murmurs of amazement were heard. Never in the memory of
living man had such a great beast been seen, alive, trapped, or
dead. Kon, growling, shrank back against Garram, who, for the moment
forgetting his wounds, had sat down to enjoy the beginning of his
triumph. Then he spoke.
[Illustration]
“Menud sought the thief in the wrong cave. He should have sought higher
on the path, nearer the village. Though perhaps had he done so he
might have joined the goats!” With difficulty the young hunter kept the
ring of exultation out of his voice.
Then, before people could recover from their amazement, there was
another interruption. The men sent to search the house of Sura and
Menud were returning. More torches flared as they cast down their
burdens, load after load of jangling brass and copper rods, neat
rolls of narrow cloth tightly wound to resist moisture. Words were
unnecessary. Garram’s defence and the proof of Menud’s intent to steal
lay in shining piles on the ground for all to see.
Garram, supported weakly on one elbow, suddenly crumpled up and lay
still. Instantly Warok was at his side. Weak from the pain and loss of
blood from the wounds left by the leopard’s claws, Garram had fainted.
After a swift but practised examination of the wounds the chief spread
his own leopard-skin robe and placed the boy gently upon it, while Kon
stood worriedly by.
Menud and his father had disappeared, but shouts of vengeance, upon the
two plotters rose fiercely out of the torchlit darkness. The old chief
turned angrily upon the crowd.
“When the sun sank you would have had me kill my son. Now that you have
seen his deeds you would turn upon his accusers. Think you that he
needs your help for vengeance upon such rats as those?”
Stooping down he gathered the still unconscious body in his powerful
arms. Carrying it as though it were a child, and followed by Kon, the
old chief passed proudly out of the Assembly.
But Menud and Sura were still free to plot again.
THE RAINMAKER’S ADVICE
[Illustration]